If we had left London right after dealing with Bettany and Mike, this entire situation could've been avoided. But for the sa reason, I now stood in a tight black suit among a crowd behind a massive aircraft, Denise had convinced to stay three more days.
Dressed formally, I stood just a step ahead of her, among several people who had been vetted and cleared to pay their respects as John's body was moved to a plane that would take him back to Arica.
Most of those in attendance were British governnt officials, though Denise made a point of subtly whispering each one's identity and relevance into my ear. We numbered several dozen, split into two groups on either side of a wide path. Everyone radiated that air of high-class restraint — chins up, eyes straight, no talking unless you were important.
The whole process that got here had been handled by Denise. She nudged gently when the chanics of the aircraft ramp started to hum. The noise drew the attention of the crowd, and a solemn lody began to drift in from the far end of the tarmac.
Four n in black suits and dark shades erged, walking slowly. Behind them, six soldiers in pristine blue uniforms and white caps carried a coffin wrapped in the Arican flag.
They moved like they were underwater — slow, reverent, dramatic. And I couldn't have been more bored. I an, I was the one who killed the geezer in the box. It was hard to care. But unfortunately, I had to act the part.
With top-tier security and high-ranking figures from both the UK and US present, you never knew who was who, or what kind of danger they could pose. I didn't see ninja momma, but I kept my Pison sealed tight in my head regardless. That might've been why Denise nudged again and leaned in with a whisper.
"The First Lady."
"Huh?"
Her words hit like a bolt. I snapped my head from the right — where the procession was approaching — to the left, where a second ramp had quietly lowered.
Four people stood at the top. Three of them were n with tight, unreadable faces. But it was the fourth that made ti slow for . A woman, tall and composed, wearing a thick black fur coat that hugged her fra like armor.
She had long red hair cascading down her back and vanishing into the fur. Beneath the coat, a black blouse and skirt peeked out. Her lips were a rich cherry red, and her presence felt like so kind of mythical ambassador of peace.
Breathtaking.
I shook it off fast. She was beautiful, yes, but there was sothing off. While the entire gathering remained locked onto the coffin procession, only Denise and I seed to notice her arrival.
"Jennifer Clove," Denise said softly. "Second wife of the President."
I gave a small nod, eyes glued to the woman I'd seen on newspaper covers one too many tis. She descended the ramp with slow grace and waited patiently on the ground for the soldiers to approach.
It took a few seconds for the rest of the crowd to catch on. When they did, murmurs erupted like sparks.
They called her graceful. So praised her beauty. Others complinted the President's taste. All of these drifted to my ears like background noise. I just watched.
Once John's coffin was inside the aircraft, I exhaled. It was finally over. I could start preparing to leave England.
As people began to disperse, I turned to go, but Denise stopped with a hard stare.
"What?" I asked.
"You want to leave, just like that?"
"Am I supposed to say a prayer or sothing?" I glanced around. No one else was praying.
"No," she said flatly. "You're supposed to interact. Build connections."
"Isn't that what I have you for?"
Before she could answer, a small commotion broke out to the side. Murmurs grew louder, and I turned in ti to see Jennifer Clove — yes, the First Lady — walking directly toward us.
No way. I didn't do anything. I kept my face calm while scanning the sea of Psion in my head.
She stopped in front of , her guards forming a loose periter. I braced for anything — a question, an accusation, maybe a handshake I didn't want to take.
"Please move," she said, her voice smooth. "I'd like to speak with the woman behind you."
That caught completely off guard.
Still, I stepped aside without hesitation, backing off a few paces as her security tightened the space between us. I watched her converse with Denise — the First Lady of the United States, talking to my handler.
I couldn't hear what they said, but it wasn't a long exchange. When she finally turned and walked away, I watched her figure vanish with a small flicker of bitterness.
"The one ti I get to see that legendary ass in person, and she's wearing a damn thick beige coat. What a waste."
I turned to call Denise so we could leave — only to find her in a new conversation with so man I didn't recognize. A mont later, another person joined in. Both of them had a strange curiosity in their eyes as they stared at her.
I looked around. Others were watching her too.
Sigh. Just great. Denise is the new hotcake.
"Excuse , handso," a woman's voice purred beside . "Who's your boss?"
I turned and found a tall, mature brunette smiling at . I hesitated, wondering if her complint was sincere or just bait.
"She's the head of ML Law Firm," I said, "and an executive at Ford Motors."
"Oh wow. Must be a thrill working for her."
"It has its monts."
"Well, your boss seems... very busy. Why don't we talk for a while? Get to know each other."
I wasn't in the mood to socialize, but I took a step back and gave her a once-over. She was attractive — curves in the right places, sharp eyes, confident smile.
"You just checked out," she teased.
"You've got an incredible bust," I replied without hesitation.
"So does your boss. Ever told her that?"
"Only when she can't hear ."
"How daring. I'm Margeret... but you can call Kitty."
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